


killer serve

by mysoulrunswithwolves



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, crack it's definitely crack, does this count as a meet cute?, idk what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysoulrunswithwolves/pseuds/mysoulrunswithwolves
Summary: All Jeonghan knew was that Seokmin had made one (1) comment about squash players not knowing what to do on an entire tennis court and Wonwoo had procured a racquet from somewhere and said, “You’re on.”





	killer serve

**Author's Note:**

> I did the song Tennis Court for this, and while it probably has very little to do with the lyrics of the song it _does_ take place on a tennis court,,,so. 
> 
> Anyway this is ridiculous and dumb I hope you enjoy it

Everybody on campus knew about Jeonghan and his friends. He, along with Joshua, Seungcheol and Jun made up the student body presidency.

Jeonghan couldn’t tell you how Seungcheol had ever convinced him to be his vice president. It probably had something to do with the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks every time he blinked.

Unfortunately, since they lived in each other’s pockets and everyone knew who they were (thanks, in no small part, to campus publicity and the giant signs of their faces over the student affairs building), it also meant that keeping secrets from each other was a distant luxury Jeonghan could no longer afford.

“You can’t prove that I like him,” Jeonghan whispered fiercely.

Joshua smirked. “I don’t need to prove it when anybody with eyes could see it.”

It was the kind of party that should probably be held in like, an empty warehouse or something, except nobody on campus had access to a warehouse that wasn’t full of crack-heads and questionable ladies-of-the-night, so the half-forgotten tennis courts on the east end of campus had to do. It had been, as most ideas of this kind usually were, Kim Mingyu’s idea to have a party on the tennis courts, and Jeonghan could begrudgingly agree that Mingyu wasn’t doing a _terrible_ job of it.

He hadn’t smelled weed yet. Which, unlike underage drinking, he wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye at as a member of the student body presidency. 

He and Joshua were leaned up against the fences at the far end of the courts, cool chain links digging into his back and watching the party evolve and shift around them. Mingyu’s boyfriend—a transfer student from China—was a dancer, and he and his dancer friends had managed to scrounge up a sound-system that wasn’t completely terrible to play music through. They, along with everyone else capable enough (or drunk enough) to move to a beat were spread out along the furthest court from where Jeonghan was.

The court closest to him, however, was quickly being swarmed by people as they heckled Jeon Wonwoo and Lee Seokmin where they squared up for what looked like the one-on-one of the fucking century. Also, it was vaguely possible that Jeonghan was tipsier than he’d thought because Joshua had an entire arm hooked around his waist to keep him in place as he kept trying to sway away from the fence and closer to the edge of the court.

Not that Jeonghan even _wanted_ to be close enough to see Wonwoo’s muscles ripple as he launched an overhand serve across the net. He wasn’t even sure how the match got started. All he knew was that Seokmin had made one (1) comment about squash players not knowing what to do on an entire tennis court and Wonwoo had procured a racquet from somewhere and said, “You’re on.”

Besides, if Jeonghan was going to be any closer to the court it was going to be very much on purpose. The plan was to miraculously avoid getting brained in the head by a tennis ball, walk to the middle of the tennis court, steal the racquet from Jeon Wonwoo’s beautiful hands, and...and, okay, so, then he was going to.

“Make out,” he said. “I want to make out with him.” Yeah, he was definitely drunker than he thought he was.

“Now see, I have ears too. I  _definitely_ know you like him.”

Jeonghan didn’t look at Joshua. Just because Joshua had to be right this _one_ time didn’t mean he was going to do something as stupid as _tell_ him that.

“Who’re we talking about?” Seungcheol rasped, walking up to them with Hansol in tow and draping himself all over his boyfriend, both smelling so _profoundly_ of marijuana that their skeletons might as well be hotboxes. “Wonwoo? Jeonghan’s totally in love with him, isn’t he?”

“I am not,” Jeonghan insisted, “in love with Jeon Wonwoo. I don’t even know who that is.” He blinked slowly at Seungcheol. “And you’re the student body president. Don't you think it’s a bit uncouth to so blatantly flaunt the rules like this? You smell like a liberal arts major.”

“Okay, but you know he’s like, way out of your league, right?” Seungcheol had the audacity to ignore most of what Jeonghan had just said. “And he’s got  _bomb_ dick.”

“Like fuck,” Hansol mutters. “ _I’ve_ heard the opposite. I’ve heard he’s too busy playing squash and studying to even know what to do with his dick.”

A few feet away, Wonwoo straightened up from retying his shoelaces and bounced the tennis ball off the clay, once, twice, before throwing it up in the air and rocketing it over to Seokmin’s side of the net. Jeonghan’s head was spinning. In the lights of the court, Wonwoo and Seokmin looked like they could be right out of that dumb anime Hansol watched. _Prince of Tennis,_ or something.But Jeonghan was more focused on the set expression on Wonwoo’s face, his sweaty hair, his strong arms, strong legs, strong. Everything. Then Wonwoo raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose in Seokmin’s direction, and Seokmin smirked back as he returned the serve with a beautiful forehand.

Then it promptly went to shit.

Now, Jeonghan was a theatre kid, in addition to Seungcheol’s vice president. It used to be the first thing he said about himself, as an advanced apology for what friendship with him was going to be like. He was used to having eyes on him all the time, used to being center stage with lights trained on him as he sang a broken-hearted rendition of _Memory_. He was used to always looking perfect, always being put together and effortlessly beautiful, of wearing makeup better than half the girls in his major. It was who he was, and even if it meant keeping others at a slight distance to protect that façade, well, it was a distance he was used to. Until Seungcheol had pulled him into a different role, a different group, and he’d learned that if he cried occasionally, it was okay. He didn’t have to be perfect every time he left his apartment.

He didn’t have to be perfect at _all,_ he just had to be himself.

Point being, if his life was going to go to shit so quick and so hard, the least he could’ve done was execute it himself. Instead, Hansol was leaning forward and dislodging Joshua’s arm from Jeonghan’s belt, making both wobble dangerously, and then he was squeezing his way between them to tow Jeonghan to the edge of the court and holler in Wonwoo’s direction, in front of approximately seventy people.

“Wonwoo! If you win, Yoon Jeonghan will serenade you with your song of choice!”

“Yes,” Jeonghan yelled. Then, “Wait. _What?”_

On the court, Wonwoo tripped over his foot as he stumbled to the net to slam the ball down on Seokmin’s side of the court.

For a long, long moment, there was silence. Well, of a sort. The far court was still thrumming with music, Soonyoung and Chan having a dance-off with noodly Kim Mingyu and his Chinese boyfriend, whose name Jeonghan couldn’t remember at present. The cheers had died down around Wonwoo’s and Seokmin’s game, and Seokmin had nearly missed the ball with a backhand in surprise. In the minute or so of Jeonghan realizing just what _exactly_ Choi Hansol had dragged him into, he also heard Jun’s giggle from somewhere nearby, Seungkwan riffing off the vocal line of whatever song was playing, the hiss of a new keg being tapped, and Jihoon cursing very, very loudly.

Then Jeonghan turned on Hansol.

“ _You obnoxious rubber goose,_ ” he hissed, angrier than he could remember being in a long time, “ _what the_ hell _are you doing._ ”

“Helping a friend—”

“ _Across the Styx and into the underworld?”_

“Across the league divide and into Jeon Wonwoo’s manly, manly—”

“Hey.”

Jeonghan closed his mouth and so did Hansol. That voice didn’t come from either of them, or from the people around them. It came from the tennis court, and much as Jeonghan hated the prospect of turning his head to confirm, he also knew that it came from Wonwoo. But the die had been cast (he was going to _murder_ Hansol later) and now he had to face his fate, so he winced, adjusted his cardigan over his shoulders, and turned his head.

Wonwoo was looking directly at him, twirling his racquet in one hand, which Jeonghan would be able to properly die over if approximately seventy other people weren’t also looking directly at him. As it was, they were, so he settled for tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and looking back at Wonwoo.

“You Jeonghan?” Wonwoo asked, and this time his deep voice gave Jeonghan tingles. Drunk tingles. He quickly swallowed the tingles and nodded, and okay, so his hair slipped free when he did, but he recovered smoothly. A pro, Yoon Jeonghan.

Wonwoo huffed and smirked at him in a shy, soft way and the tingles came back with volcanic force. No, but literally, like when he was in fifth grade and he’d made that dumb papier-mâché volcano like everyone else had in science class and all that red came fizzing out when he had poured in the vinegar. Wonwoo smiled at him, looking up under long, pretty lashes and Jeonghan was a papier-mâché volcano now. That was where this party was going, then.

“Well, then,” Wonwoo finally said. “I’ll do my best, Jeonghan.”

And before Jeonghan could even begin to breathe, Wonwoo threw the ball into the air and sent it across the net, and the party erupted into chaos.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_xKikix)


End file.
